Meadowlark
by inkstainedfingers97
Summary: Fic prompt for Grrarrggh: Sometime during the two years Jane is away on the beach, Lisbon has to fake her death.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Meadowlark

Rating: T for sexual references

Warning: Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts/ideation and acts of self-harm.

Spoilers: Goes AU after 6x08.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I'm not making any money off of this.

A/N: This is a short one, folks. Three chapters but less than 5,000 words. I should be writing my novel right now, but I keep responding to fic prompts instead. The addiction is real, people.

This fic is dedicated to Grrarrggh, who requested Lisbon faking her death while Jane is away on his island.

xxxx

When Jane sees Pete's large, lumbering figure seated at a table on the patio at his favorite beachside restaurant in the little village on his way back from the post office, sweating in the tropical heat and looking uncomfortable, his stomach clenches.

"Well," Jane says, dropping into the seat next to him. Happiness at the sight of his old friend wars with a nearly overpowering sense of dread. "This can't be good."

Pete avoids his eyes. "Hey, Paddy," he greets him without enthusiasm.

Jane raises his eyebrows. "Okay, now I'm really worried. Why are you here, Pete?"

Pete finally looks up at him, sorrow in his eyes. "It's…it's your little friend. Pepper." He clears his throat. "She's gone, Paddy."

Jane tilts his head and manages a half smile, waiting for the end of the joke. "Gone where?"

"She died," Pete says soberly. "Not too long ago. We just found out. I thought—well, Sam and I thought it'd be better if you heard it from someone you knew."

A pit opens in Jane's stomach. "No," he croaks. His hands shake. "It's not true." Bile rises in his throat.

"I'm sorry, Paddy," Pete says miserably. Jane reads the truth in his eyes and sucks in a ragged, painful breath.

He stands so quickly he knocks over his chair. Stumbles away, blind.

He makes it to the edge of the patio before throwing up in the bushes Javier has planted along the edge of the seating area. Dusk has stolen over the island, a gray haze blanketing the glimmer of pink on the horizon where the sun has disappeared.

He feels Pete's hand, heavy on his shoulder. He throws it off and scrambles away. He runs away from the sound of Pete's voice, calling his name, as far and fast as he can. His legs ache and his lungs burn, but he keeps going, willing to run forever if he doesn't have to see that look in Pete's eyes and face what it means.

Night falls. His feet blister and start to bleed in his old brown shoes, but he keeps going. He puts on a burst of speed and finds himself on the edge of a cliff a few miles from his little shack. He's pondered cliff jumping from this spot, just for the thrill of it—to remind himself he is alive—but he'd discarded the idea as too risky because he doesn't know how deep it is. He looks down at the water, black and swirling under the starry sky.

He doesn't think. Just leaps off the edge, the free fall an eerily literal metaphor for his mental state. Feels the smack of water against his hands, then his face as he breaks through the surface. He plunges into the depths, the momentum from his fall causing him to sink like a stone. The water is cold down here at the bottom.

He tries to stay underwater, but his natural buoyancy pushes him back to the surface. Angrily, he kicks out. He swims out as far as he can, to a place the locals have warned him to avoid. The undertow is wicked when the tide recedes. When he reaches a spot where he can feel the pull of the undertow sucking him out to sea, he flips over onto his back and stares at the sky. He floats, drifting, succumbing to the pull, his mind a careful, anguished blank.

Then he thinks—no.

He doesn't believe in God, but there is no way the universe, the pure laws of physics and statistics could be this cruel. The universe pulls towards balance and stability in all things. And the premature death of Teresa Lisbon is a destabilizing fact. So. He isn't going to take this on faith.

Besides, what does he think he's doing, pulling some kind of Romeo and Juliet crap? He's always hated that story. Of all the stupid idiots in the history of literature. At least Romeo should have been one hundred percent sure of what the hell he was doing before he ended his miserable existence. And if Lisbon found out he'd managed to drown himself over her alleged death, when she was in fact alive, she'd be pissed as hell. And probably very sad. And though his death would be no great loss to the world—and would in fact probably restore some level of karmic balance—condemning Lisbon to anything resembling the grief he'd just tasted, not to mention the grief he'd lived with for the past ten years, is unacceptable. He deserves his suffering, but he would spare her what he could. He can always find a nice place to drown himself back in the U.S. if this whole preposterous notion of Lisbon being dead actually turns out to be true. First, he needs to find out the facts. He starts to swim back.

Of course, the moment he decides not to give up just yet, it becomes infinitely harder. The ocean plucks and pulls at him, trying to fold him back into her embrace, but he resists, his hands slicing cleanly through the waves. He swims parallel to the coastline until he finds a place where the undertow isn't so powerful and he can start making his way back to land. He finally makes it back to shore, shivering and exhausted, his muscles shaking with effort.

Pete is there, waiting helplessly.

When Jane staggers out of the sea, Pete rises and cuffs him hard on the arm. The blow lands with the force of a bear cuffing her cub. Jane falls over, flat on his back.

"Damn you Paddy, I thought you were going to drown yourself." Pete's voice is unexpectedly emotional. He swipes at his nose with the back of one giant hand. His voice trembles. "And you know I can't swim."

"It's not true," Jane says, his voice perfectly calm beneath the shivers. He stares up at the sky again. The stars are particularly beautiful tonight.

"Paddy," Pete says unhappily.

Jane sits up. "Where is she?"

Pete closes his eyes. "She's gone, Paddy."

"Fine," Jane says impatiently. "Where was she before all this happened? You must know, if you were getting the letters to her."

"She was working as chief of police in this little town in Washington called Cannon River." Pete swallows. "She died of cancer. It happened quick. A couple months."

Cannon River. It's a place to start. Jane hauls himself to his feet. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Pete asks warily.

"Back to the States," Jane says, heading purposefully towards his little apartment so he can pick up a few necessities.

"You're still wanted for murder," Pete says, alarmed. "You'll be arrested the minute you try to cross the border."

"That's the general idea," Jane says, and picks up his pace.


	2. Chapter 2

He gives money to Pete for a flight and tells him to lay low in Caracas for a few days, then boards a plane.

Jane makes the air marshal on the plane going into the States about five minutes after taking his seat on the plane. He waits until the seatbelt sign goes off before going to sit next to him. "Hello," he says politely. "I'd like to be arrested."

"Uh." The marshal blinks at him. "Excuse me?"

"I'm wanted for murder," Jane explains patiently. "I'm giving myself up." He holds out his hands to be cuffed.

The marshal shakes his head. "Okay, man." He cuffs Jane. A few minutes later, he offers him his peanuts.

Xxx

The marshal transfers him to federal custody upon their arrival in Houston. Jane waits until the marshal is well and truly clear—the man had given him his peanuts, after all—then lifts the keys from one of the officers guarding him. Fifteen minutes later, he's speeding down the highway in a police officer's uniform in an unmarked black cruiser.

He ditches the cruiser in Dallas, buys a John Deere cap to cover his curls, a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of work boots. A non-descript jacket he hopes will make him less memorable. He debates contacting Rigsby, Van Pelt, or Cho, but discards the idea. They won't be able to give him any useful information over the phone anyway. Besides, contacting them won't do them any favors, given his fugitive state. He needs to stay focused on the primary mission. He buys a bus ticket to Seattle.

He buys a beat up pickup truck in Seattle and drives into Cannon River without fanfare. He parks the truck and goes into the police station. "Hi," he says to the young man at the front desk. "Can you please tell me where I can find Teresa Lisbon's house?"

The young man says soberly, "Chief passed not too long ago."

"I heard," Jane says brusquely. "Her brother Tommy asked me to take a look at the place, but he sent me the wrong address and I can't get any service out here. Mind telling me where it is?"

Xxx

He breaks into the house without any trouble. The place is untouched. A thin film of dust has accumulated on the surfaces of the tables and shelves, but otherwise, it looks like she might have just stepped out to go to the store. Would be back at any moment. He looks around with a pang. She'd made a home here. A real one. One that is warm and inviting and so…Lisbon. It's a cliché, but he can feel her in it.

He searches the place methodically. He finds no hidden compartments, no loose floorboards. The bedroom reveals nothing of interest, though he notes with mixed feelings of sadness and relief that it shows no sign of anything resembling a permanent male presence. Part of him had hoped for her sake that she'd found someone to make her happy now that he's no longer in her life. But now he's glad, because he won't have to worry about stealing her away from anyone once he tracks her down. So that's one positive. Now all he has to do is find her.

The bathroom, kitchen, and dining room also reveal no secrets. He spends a long time in her home office, sorting through her papers and books, but again finds nothing. Tossing aside a stack of papers in frustration, a thread of doubt worms its way into his mind. He chokes down the thought before it can fully form. It isn't true. It can't be true. He finds a copy of her will and stares at it a long time.

He shakes himself free of the haunting thoughts and fears and stands abruptly. He goes out to the living room and looks around. She'd spent most of her time here, he realizes. For once, he couldn't have immediately said exactly how or why he is so certain of this fact. The couch cushions are a little more worn on that end—he imagines her curling up in that corner, her legs tucked beneath her. The fireplace has a stack of wood beside it, and ashes in the grate. Yes—she would sit by the fire. He looks at the coasters on the coffee table. Perhaps with a glass of wine.

He examines the photographs on the mantle. Pops each one out of its frame to check for hidden messages. He lingers on one taken of the five of them at one of those tedious CBI benefits Lisbon always complained about. On the back, it has the word 'Team,' written on it, along with the year. Nothing else.

He finally finds what he's looking for tucked away on a shelf in the corner of the room. A box of letters. A box of _his_ letters. He takes the box down from its shelf, sets it on the coffee table. Fingers trembling, he takes the first one out of the box.

It takes him ten letters to notice the pattern. A lamentable comment on his state of mind.

He'd always written his letters with the same cheap ballpoint pen. But there, in the bottom right hand corner, is a small number written in pencil in Lisbon's neat hand. He goes back through the other letters. Finds penciled numbers on the first page of each letter. He sighs in relief.

It takes him some time to puzzle out the significance of the numbers. Finally he hits on the idea of laying them out in date order, from the first letter to the most recent, mirroring how she'd arranged them in the box. Too long for a phone number. Doesn't seem to be a date, either. He gets up and finds a map in her office. Spreads it out over the floor next to the coffee table. On his hands and knees, he draws a finger along the grid lines, first east to west, then north to south. GPS coordinates. He smiles. She's only a thousand miles away.

Xxx

He pulls up to the gate of a ranch in the foothills outside Casper, Wyoming and hesitates, internally debating which flavor of con will most likely yield the information he is after. But then he sees a slight figure in the distance, mending a fence a ways down the road. Long hair beneath a cowboy hat blows in the breeze behind her.

He gets out of the truck, legs and hands trembling. He walks up the road slowly, mildly concerned that he might faint.

Her back is to him, and she doesn't see him as he approaches. He drinks in the sight of her. A long-sleeved blue and green plaid shirt to keep the sun off her fair skin. Blue jeans, worn from work. Sturdy boots. A bona fide cowboy hat. And a saddled horse twenty yards away on the other side of the fence, munching on the grass contentedly, untethered. A meadowlark lands on the fence post separating the two of them and warbles a cheerful greeting, its song joyful and sweet.

"You know, for a city girl, you make a very attractive cowgirl," he drawls.

She spins around, the hammer in her hand half-raised as a weapon. Her shoulders sag in relief when she sees it's him. She lowers the hammer and presses her other hand to her chest. "You scared the life out of me."

She doesn't have the chance to say anything more. He closes the distance between them in three strides and sweeps her into an embrace. He hears the soft thud of the hammer hitting the grass as she lets it go to circle her arms around his neck properly.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I couldn't figure out a way to let you know without giving the game away."

He holds her tighter. "S'okay. You did the right thing. You're safe. That's all that matters."

She buries her fingers in his curls and turns her face into the side of his neck. "I'm so glad you're here."

He's been dry-eyed the entire time since Pete had come to find him, but now his face is wet with tears. "Me, too," he says hoarsely. He threads his fingers through the soft dark waves falling down her back and shifts closer. She tightens her arms around his neck and makes no move to break away.

Which is a good thing. Because he's never going to let her go again.


	3. Chapter 3

Lisbon is the one who finally pulls away.

"C'mon," she says briskly, but he catches the way she dashes at her eyes as she says it. She nudges his shoulder with hers. "Help me with this fence. Then we can catch up properly."

He dutifully holds up the fence while she hammers it back into place. He glances at the horse, still greedily tearing up mouthfuls of grass. "Nice ride," he says. "Yours?"

"More or less," she says. "Name's Maggie. She's a mean old thing," she adds fondly.

"But she'd follow you to the ends of the earth," Jane surmises, realizing on further inspection that Maggie is keeping a weather eye on him under the guise of stuffing herself with grass.

"We get along," she says with a smile. "I've purchased her affection with an endless supply of apples and sugar cubes."

He shakes his head. "This from the woman who was afraid of a little old deer."

"I have a rifle now," she says. Sure enough, Jane can see the butt of a rifle sticking out of a long leather case threaded beneath one stirrup on the saddle. "I can protect myself from any particularly menacing deer. Though I'm pretty much used to them, now. And I got a head start getting used to horseflesh when you gave me that pony."

He shakes his head. "You and your guns."

"How'd you get here?" Lisbon asks. "You popped up out of nowhere. Did you hitchhike or something?"

"I've got a pickup. I left it down by the gate."

"Well, drive it along the road up to the house," she says. "I've got a little cabin round the backside of the pond, but the road doesn't go up that way. Just leave it by the house and I'll meet you there."

Jane is unhappy at the prospect of a separation, no matter how brief. "Is it safe?"

She nods. "Don's all right. I just need to let him know you'll be staying with me."

Jane hesitates, still reluctant. "Can't I come back with you? I can pick up the truck later."

Her face softens. "All right. We can walk back together. I need to get Maggie settled in the barn, and then we can walk up to the road and get your truck."

They walk back hand in hand, Lisbon leading Maggie. Maggie tries to bite him.

Lisbon gives him a sugar cube to ply her with. Maggie delicately accepts the sugar cube from his hand. Then bites him. Jane snatches his hand away, nursing his arm, which is going to be sporting a large teeth shaped bruise the next morning. Lisbon strokes the horse on the nose affectionately. "She'll warm up. She's obviously figured out you're an acquired taste."

They stop at the barn. Jane watches as Lisbon removes the rifle from its holster, then expertly untacks the horse and checks her hooves for stones. Finding none, Lisbon sets out a bucket of water for Maggie to drink from while Lisbon fetches the currycomb and brush and sets to grooming her. Jane watches in fascination as Lisbon brushes and combs her coat to a glossy sheen, a process which involves a lot of Lisbon murmuring silly nothings into Maggie's pricked ears. The devil creature obviously revels in the attention, her body twitching in pleasure as Lisbon fusses over her.

When Maggie had been groomed to Lisbon's satisfaction, they leave her with a bag of oats and head up to the house. When they reach the front porch, Lisbon pats him on the arm. "Wait here."

Jane reflexively tightens his grip on her hand. She squeezes back. "I'll only be a minute. Trust me."

She goes and finds her boss working in one of the paddocks behind the house and brings him down to meet Jane. She introduces Jane as "her old friend, Patrick." Don doesn't ask questions. He nods curtly at Jane and shakes his hand with a firm, callused grip.

They run into three other ranch hands on the way to the road, herding cattle. One about nineteen, obviously in awe of Lisbon. One married and friendly. The third a couple years younger than Lisbon and clearly half in love with her. His eyes track their joined hands. "Who's this?" he asks, shooting a disgruntled look at Jane.

"This is my friend, Patrick," Lisbon answers.

The hand, whose name is Jeremy, continues to stare at Jane malevolently. "Friend, huh? I thought you and I were friends, Teresa. You never hold my hand."

"We've known each other a long time," Lisbon says placidly. She makes no move to let Jane go.

"Don't take it personally," Jane says. "I knew her for ten years before she let me hold her hand. You just need to have patience."

"Ten years?" Jeremy repeats in dismay.

Lisbon waves them off. "We'll see you later."

They leave the hands behind and Lisbon pulls Jane up the road. "It will probably make life easier if you get them to like you," she says mildly.

"Duly noted," Jane says, hearing the subtle warning in her voice. He resolves to launch a charm offensive to shore up goodwill among the locals at the earliest opportunity.

They get back to the car. Lisbon holds her hand out for the keys. Jane hands them over wordlessly and climbs into the passenger seat. Lisbon slides in beside him. "Thought maybe you might have traded up after finally leaving that old blue bucket of bolts behind," she says with a smirk as she puts the keys in the ignition. "But I see you've gotten yourself another rusty—" Before she can finish the thought, Jane puts his hand behind her head and stops her with a long, desperate kiss.

His brain shorts out when he feels her soft mouth under his. When he finally recovers some semblance of his wits, both his hands are buried in her hair and her hand is on his cheek. They're both breathing heavily. Jane feels as though he's traversed several galaxies in the last several minutes. He smiles self-consciously, but doesn't let her go. "Sorry about that," he says weakly. Possibly the biggest lie he's ever uttered in his life. "I just—wanted to clarify my position."

"Thank you," she says, smiling. "That does make things clearer." She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Perhaps I should clarify my position as well?" He nods dumbly, too quickly. She leans forward and kisses him back.

They drive up and park the truck up by the house. Then Lisbon takes him by the hand again and leads him to a little cabin tucked away behind a hill, with a little pond out front. The view is spectacular, the rolling grassy hills stretching up to snow-capped peaks in the distance. Jane doesn't know if he's ever seen a sky so blue. "I'd like to clarify my position further," she says, stepping closer to him and fingering the button on his shirt.

Jane clears his throat. "Come to think of it, I have a few points I'd like to clarify further as well."

They go inside and remove each other's clothes with quiet, desperate efficiency, then tumble onto the soft flannel sheets on Lisbon's bed.

After, Jane cooks for her. She doesn't have an oven, but she has a little stove and enough food in the cupboards that he manages a respectable meal.

Lisbon eats like she's starving. "I had to lose a lot of weight for the con," she explains.

Jane is alarmed. "You can't afford to lose weight."

"Believe me, I wasn't happy about it," Lisbon says, slathering another slice of skillet cornbread with butter. "But it seemed the easiest way to convince people I was really dying." She explains that a local doctor friend in Cannon River helped her with the con. Blake had come after her twice since she moved to Cannon River. She killed one, arrested the other. But they clearly weren't going to stop. So she had to figure out a way to deal with it without endangering her brothers and the team. Thus, the con.

"Who knows?"

She devours half the slice of cornbread in one bite. "My brothers. The team. Abbott."

"Abbott?" Jane asks with a frown, remembering the man who was responsible for dismantling the CBI and breaking his favorite teacup.

"I spoke with him after I caught the second guy. He helped me get set up here."

Jane sits back. "You're not just in hiding," he realizes. "You're working a con. A different con."

She nods. "One of the Blake leaders is here. We want to catch him."

His eyes don't leave hers. "How can I help?"

Xxx

Jane continues to stay in Lisbon's little cabin and manages to get himself hired as a hand at a neighboring ranch. Lisbon finds this amusing. He doesn't take to the work quite as quickly as she does, but he gets by. Lisbon finds his complaints about the unexpected exertions of his new job amusing as well. He does not, however, complain about the other unexpected exertions that have come along with this new life. He grows absurdly fond of flannel sheets and the sound of meadowlark song outside her window in the morning.

Through a careful campaign, he manages to win over the other hands at Don's ranch (even the recalcitrant Jeremy) as well as the hands at Skylark Ranch, where he's working now. His strategy mainly revolves around buying his fellow workers vast quantities of beer, telling entertaining tall tales, and losing carefully calculated amounts of money in games of pool and poker to each of his new companions in turn. Lisbon shakes her head over this, but has to admit the strategy is effective.

Don's ranch and Skylark Ranch bookend the ranch of Jay Somerset, the Blake leader Lisbon has identified through months of careful research. Somerset has amassed a vast fortune through the management of various military contracts and bought the ranch as a vacation home. He leases the land around it to the neighboring ranchers for grazing.

Don, it turns out, has lost a son. The son was in the army, killed in action by friendly fire. Lisbon suspects Somerset of orchestrating the event to protect his military contracts and to conceal war crimes perpetrated by the son's commanding officer. They believe the commanding officer is also Blake. When Jane learns this, he puts his hand on Don's shoulder and sits beside him on the porch steps for a long time in silent solidarity.

It takes them three months to bring down Somerset. They collect evidence on several of his cronies as well, and by the time they see the FBI lead Somerset away in cuffs, they have amassed enough information to take down another whole arm of the Blake organization.

They celebrate over a beer in her little cabin, the flannel sheets rumpled in the background. When her phone rings, Lisbon gets up to answer it. He watches her straighten her posture a bit as the person on the other end starts talking.

"Abbott?" he guesses when she hangs up.

She nods, stunned. "He—he offered me a job. As a special agent for the FBI working with his team in Austin." She looks over at him. "He offered you, one, too." She clears her throat. "If, you know, you'd want that."

"I assume this job comes along with a pardon," Jane says, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. He knows what you've done here. He said he'll arrange all the paperwork."

He considers this. "Think they'll give me my old couch back?" he wonders aloud.

She laughs, but half a sob escapes partway through. She turns to him, eyes shining. "If they don't, I'll buy you a new one."

He stands up and picks her hat up off the table. "Well," he says, placing it on her head and tilting her chin up so he can look into her eyes. "If we're moving to Texas, guess we'd better bring your cowboy hat."

She slides her arms around his waist and looks up at him, her grin wide and real and untainted by tears. "We?" she emphasized. " _We're_ moving to Texas?"

"Sure, why not?" He tips the hat back and gives her a long, sweet kiss. He grins down at her. "Let's see what kind of trouble we can make."


End file.
